Page 33 of The Henna Artist

The matron with the shawl sniffed. “I just hope I won’t be seeingourmaharaja’s car at my gate anytime soon.”

Parvati chuckled. “I’m sure His Highness is smart enough to avoid bankruptcy.” Her lips twitched. “Either that or he’ll run for Parliament.”

The ladies burst into laughter.

Radha glanced at me, a question in her eyes.

“Politics and real estate. The two favorite career options of royalty,” I said.

I guided Radha to the next window. Her breath caught. It looked like a meeting of the royals. The Maharaja of Jaipur was easy to identify from the photo at Kanta’s house—the long brocaded coat, white leggings, ornamented headdress. He carried himself like the sportsman he was—chest thrust out, legs planted firmly on the ground, strong calves—taking up more physical space than his companions, including twonawabs, their Muslim headdresses and elaborately jeweled coats rivaling the maharaja’s. Samir stood in this group, too, gesturing animatedly with a glass of Scotch in his hand, telling a story by the look of it. As he finished, the group exploded into laughter.

The maharaja addressed Samir and I saw him turn toward the stage on the lawn, beckoning to someone. We watched as Ravi, dressed as Othello in a yellow silkdhotiand gold crown, jogged into view. His face, neck and naked torso were covered in dark blue greasepaint. The muscles of his chest rippled as he ran.

“Who is he?” Radha whispered, pointing at Ravi.

I pulled her finger down gently. “That’s Parvati and Samir’s son, Ravi. A handsome Othello, don’t you think?”

She looked happy. “That was Pitaji’s favorite play.”

I hadn’t remembered that.“Accha?”

“That andThe Taming of the Shrew. He’d have me read them aloud. Over and over. Till I knew them by heart...almost.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

She grinned wickedly. “Iadoredit!” she sing-sang in British English, imitating the girls from the henna party.

I laughed along with her, and at that moment, Samir and Ravi looked up at our window. I pulled Radha back into the hallway. “Time for us to clean these tiffins.”

As we rounded the corner, Samir entered from the veranda, “I thought I saw you up there!”

I smiled and introduced Radha, who set her load down tonamastehim. “Good evening, Sahib. You have a lovely home.”

If he remembered her from that awful night with Joyce Harris, he didn’t let on. Samir placed a hand over his chest, the sides of his mouth creasing in a warm welcome. “Have you come to break my heart?”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised that Samir would flirt with such a young girl. “Pay no attention to him, Radha.”

Samir pretended to be offended. “I get Lakshmi an audience with the palace, and this is how she treats me?”

I blinked, not sure I’d heard correctly.“Kya?”

“You have a meeting with the maharani tomorrow.”

Radha turned to me, cupping her mouth with her hands. “Oh, Jiji! A maharani! We’ll get to see the palace!”

I put a hand on her shoulder, as much to steady myself as her.It’s finally happening!

Samir laughed and pointed to the ceiling. “Take your dinner plates up to the roof. You can see tonight’s performance from there and tell me how good of an actor my son is. He fancies himself a thespian.”

“Oh, Jiji! Can we? It’sOthello!” Radha asked me, her face full of hope.

I hadn’t planned on staying, but she had been on such good behavior today. I smiled at her. “First the kitchen, then the play.”

She excused herself politely and continued down the corridor with the tiffins, trying not to run. I knew she couldn’t wait to share the news with Malik. They talked about anything and everything.

Samir followed Radha with his eyes. “Pretty girl.”

He gestured to the open door of the library and followed me inside.

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